


Pietro and Sharon: 30 Day OTP Challenge

by sinslikescarlet



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge, Crack Relationships, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Marvel 616/MCU Crossover, agent 13 - Freeform, quicksilver - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 15:30:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5545238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinslikescarlet/pseuds/sinslikescarlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exploration of the relationship between Pietro Maximoff and Sharon Carter, mentally, emotionally, physically, and sexually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pietro and Sharon: 30 Day OTP Challenge

Being an Avenger was hard, but Pietro was sure that being a SHIELD agent was harder. At least with being an Avenger, there was a schedule. Having all of them at once seemed a bit like overkill for the everyday missions. You really didn’t need Captain America, Iron Man, Hulk, Thor, Hawkeye, Black Widow, Scarlet Witch, Quicksilver, Vision, War Machine, Falcon and Ant Man on the scene to stop a little threat like the Wrecking Crew. Really, only one was needed. So most days there were three or four in the Tower at all times, and three or so on call. If a true emergency would arise, a SHIELD agent would find them.

            Which brought the mutant back to his original thought. From what he could tell, agents were always on call—unless they were injured. And even then, he wasn’t sure. He’d only been an official Avenger for a couple of months now, but he’d still seen plenty to know that the agents were worked like dogs. Often, he’d find one in a chair, off in a corner somewhere, nodding off. If not that, he’d find one hiding in a room that was barely ever used. They’d see him walk in and change from a slumped and relaxed position to one of high alert.

            He felt bad for them.

            His feeling was only accented when he befriended the legacy agent, Sharon Carter. Her aunt had been one of the founders of SHIELD and was put up on a pedestal. All eyes were on the blond, expecting the same from her that her aunt provided, and somehow, she met those expectations. Agent 13, as she was nicknamed, seemed to always be in uniform, always at the Tower, and always debriefing someone on a new assignment. If she wasn’t there, she was on the streets, kicking ass. He was pretty sure she didn’t have an apartment—she just stayed at the Tower. Pietro couldn’t help but notice her, especially since really did live at the Tower for the first month of being an Avenger.

            After the Battle of Sokovia, and he’d been shot 48 times, he was brought back to the Avengers Tower and put in the fancy machine that had essentially brought the Vision to life. After a day or so, he’d been repaired as best as was possible. His sister, Wanda, had never left his side, refusing food or water until she knew that her twin was alright. The two siblings were forever in the debt of the Avengers, and for once, they were okay with that idea. Stark, after discovering that two were homeless, invited the two to live at the Tower until they could find a place of their own. They were already in enough debt to him, why not go just a little bit further? His offer was accepted, and immediately the twins were given their own rooms, a bed to call their own, clothes—everything they could ever hope for.

            It took a long time for the twins to get used to living in a place as extravagant as the Tower, but it was a welcome change. For Pietro, the hardest thing to get used to was sleeping in a bed. A real, soft bed, all to himself. After going on the run, the mutant could count the number of times he’d been in a bed on one hand. It was normal for him to sleep on the floor, the ground, against a wall—anywhere he could be safe. But now? He was most certainly safe. Even so, the pampered lifestyle seemed odd to him. Many nights he would give up on the mattress and opt for sleeping on the floor, but sometimes, even that wasn’t enough. He’d get up, let out a deep sigh, and wander the hallways until he felt like he would fall over from exhaustion. On one evening in particular, it was 2am when the white-haired man took to the halls. After walking around for about half an hour, he stumbled by Carter, alone in a room, sitting cross legged on a table, a book in her hands.

            She seemed out of place. The room was painted with dark reds, walls covered in priceless pieces of art, a chandelier hanging from the ceiling—and here she was, sitting on mahogany table, in a pair of grey sweatpants and a loose, beaten up t-shirt. Her normally perfect blond hair was in a messy bun, numerous locks straying from their proper home and getting in the woman’s eyes. Pietro himself wasn’t any better. He wore a pair of black sweat pants and a white t-shirt—both brand new and from Stark himself. For some reason, the Iron Man had given Pietro a set of silk pajamas. As soon as he’d received them, they were in a drawer somewhere. They were just too much for a man who rarely ever had more than one shirt in his possession at once. The “training clothes,” as Tony had called them, were more than enough.

            Immediately the mutant turned on his heel to leave and go a different direction. He would have run away if she hadn’t already seen him and called him by name. If he ran then, it would just be rude. At the same time, he hated the fact that he was disturbing her reading. It was rare seeing a SHIELD agent on break, so by interrupting her, he was probably taking away precious time she needed to unwind.

            “Maximoff. What are you doing up so late?” she asked, putting the book down.

            “I…the beds. I just can’t sleep in them,” he answered, quiet.

            “They too hard for you?” Sharon slid off of the table and approached the white-haired man, an inquisitive look on her face.

            “No no, they’re very nice. I’m just not used to such extravagance.” His stance relaxed as he thought that she wasn’t irritated by his presence, but instead, intrigued.

            “That’s right,” she smiled, probably recalling a file she’d read about him. “Life on the run. I’m sorry to hear that. I can’t imagine the hardships you must’ve gone through.”

            He arched an eyebrow in surprise. Nobody ever said that. For the most part, everyone else avoided talking about Pietro’s past. It could have been because they knew he wasn’t exactly a shining example of a great human being, or the fact that they knew he’d worked with the enemy. Or it could just have been because all of his troubles made them uncomfortable.

            Oddly enough, Pietro found himself immediately trusting the woman. She gave off a feeling of real concern—not one fabricated because she felt she had to have sympathy for the man. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he smiled weakly at his companion.

            “Thank you. Your sympathy is appreciated,” he replied. “So you know why I’m here. What’s your story?”

            Sharon chuckled at his question, one hand trying to tame the loose hairs. “That’s a long story. You sure you want to know?”

            “I’ve got all night.”

            They talked until the sun rose. In a way, it was the world’s alarm for them—Sharon had to go back to being an agent, and Pietro back to being an Avenger. Even though he was tired for the rest of the day, he didn’t mind it. After talking with her, he felt so much more comfortable being at the Tower, around the Avengers, and with the new world that surrounded him. She had told him about her Aunt, how she was raised to be a fighter, how her parents didn’t really know how to care for her. They loved her, yes, but they found her accelerated mind and warrior-like behavior strange. She told him of growing up with Tony Stark as her best friend, how he was practically a brother to her. It was all so intriguing, and Sharon hadn’t even told him about her life after she was 13 years old.

He found himself thinking back to their talk often, and even smiling at the woman during meetings and debriefings. Quietly he took notice of her and her actions, how she behaved, what she liked, what she disliked, etc. For some reason, he found himself drawn to her, like a moth to a flame. It was obvious that she was well aware of this, on occasion being explicitly clear how she wanted something done. He memorized her coffee order, the sub she got at Subway, what she ordered at the Chinese place down the street—anything and everything that he could learn about her, he did his best to record it in his mind.

            As the weeks went on whenever Pietro had a sleepless night, he’d find Sharon in the red room, a book in her hands, wearing the same grey sweats. Again they’d talk, telling stories of their pasts, speak of missions, and even ponder about the future. The only thing that ever changed was the color of her top. He’d gotten in the habit of taking a long nap at about five in the evening, just so he could stay up as late as he wanted and not be exhausted the next day. Whenever he could manage it, he would stay up as long as possible, just to talk to her and hear her voice.

            Even though Wanda had found an apartment for them to share, he was reluctant to go through with the move. That would mean no more late night chats with Sharon, and he knew he just couldn’t do that.

            “You’re addicted,” Wanda noted one morning. She’d interrupted the little bit of sleep he had managed to sneak in to prepare him for the day. The smell of coffee permeated throughout the room, a mix of the bitter drink and hazelnut.

            “Were they all out of peppermint creamer?” mumbled Pietro, forcing himself to sit up.

            “Don’t change the subject,” his sister grinned, sitting down beside him. She slicked back his messy hair with one hand and tilted his head up to look at her with the other.

            Groaning with embarrassment, Pietro broke free of Wanda’s hold and moved so that he was sitting on his knees. “Is it that obvious?”

            Wanda beamed, letting him know that it was.

            “Shit,” he breathed, grabbing at the tall blue coffee cup that sat on the end table. “I don’t know what to do, _sestra_ ,” was all he could manage to say.

            She found the cup and brought it up for him to hold. “You need to tell her. You can’t put this off. No running.”

            As much as he didn’t want to do it, it was clear that he had to. The entire day he was nervous, biting at his nails and playing with the two locks of hair that always got in his eyes. By the time it was five, his normal nap time, he was practically vibrating. After the debriefing finally ended, he sprinted to his room. His sprint was close to the speed of a jet, which made a bit of a mess in the halls, but he had to get out of there. He’d make sure to clean up once he could think straight. Hands shaking, Pietro looked at his reflection in the mirror by the dresser.

            Oh dear. His hair was a mess, skin pale, lips chapped—the exact opposite of how he wanted to look for Sharon when he told her about his feelings. Right then and there, he stripped himself of his clothes and made his way to the bathroom, hoping that a shower might calm him down. In a way it did, and in another it didn’t. The feel of the hot water hitting his back was wonderful, like a massage from someone with wet hands. He stood there for a minute, simply taking it all in, when he heard a voice call his name.

            Cheeks flushing bright red, Pietro knew that the voice did not belong to Wanda. He’d be a little bit uncomfortable with his sister seeing him like this, but they’d seen it plenty of times before when on the run. If they found a stream, one would bathe while the other kept watch, and then switched. On more than one occasion, one would have to get the other in the middle of their bath to run for cover. All he wanted to do now was run, but that was not an option in the slightest.

            Shutting the water off, the white-haired man grabbed a towel and dried off the best he could in five seconds. As he wrapped the cloth around his waist, he heard his name once more.

            “One moment,” he called out, stepping out of the shower. All he needed to do was grab his clothes and get dressed and he’d see who it was that was there. The only thing though, was that he didn’t have his clothes with him. They were out in the middle of his bedroom, where he had left them.

            “Pietro?” the voice repeated, a bit shaky this time.

            Clutching onto the towel as tight as he could, Pietro turned the knob on the door and stepped out into his bedroom. There, standing before him, holding his shirt in her hands, was Sharon Carter. He knew he was bright red, but it didn’t matter all that much. She was too.

            “I’ll come back later,” she said, doing her best to keep a straight face. Somehow she was doing a damn good job, but then again, she had been trained almost all her life to do just that.

            “No—stay.” Pietro reached out his hand, almost as if he could keep her where she stood by doing so. Surprisingly, it worked.

            “I wanted to talk to you,” Sharon said quietly. “If it wasn’t this important I would have let you be, but...it can’t wait.”

            “You can talk. Just, would you mind turning around for just a second so I can get dressed?” the speedster blushed.

            “Oh,” she smiled, practically laughing at herself. “Of course.”

            Sharon did as requested, and Pietro waited a couple of seconds before letting the towel drop to the floor. As he pulled his boxer-briefs and his jeans up, he could have sworn he saw her eyes flash back to him, but he dismissed it.

            “Okay, you can turn around,” he informed her, bringing his shirt up so he could put it on.

            Turning on her heel, the agent faced him once more, a smile on her face. It was kind, but there was also some worry behind it. Pietro’s stomach dropped. What was she going to tell him? It couldn’t have been good, not with a look like that.

            “I wanted to ask you a question, actually,” she began, smoothing her skirt. “Would…would you go out on a date with me?”

            He’d been in the middle of slipping his shirt on over his head when she finished speaking, and the man practically fell over. His arms were tangled in the cotton and his eyes covered, and they stayed that way for a minute. Pietro didn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. Was this a dream? Did he actually manage to get some sleep and this was how his mind was coping with the possibility of confronting Sharon about his feelings? His mind thought up a million different reasons for why this couldn’t possibly be real before he let the cotton slide down his chest. The hesitation he was showing didn’t seem to faze the blond, but something told him that she was freaking out as much as he was. Just silently.

            “O-Of course,” he stuttered, his voice quiet, suddenly becoming shy.

            It seemed like she wasn’t expecting that. Sharon blinked a couple of times before responding, almost as if her mind wasn’t able to comprehend his words. A bright smile spread across her face at it finally hit her that he had said yes to her question. The agent seemed to almost giggle with joy before returning to her normal, straight-faced self.

            “Wonderful. How about coffee tomorrow morning? Maybe even some breakfast? 7 work for you?”

            Silently the speedster nodded his head, struggling to find his words.

            “I’ll see you then.” Sharon turned once more on her heel and left the room. If he wasn’t in such shock Pietro would have sworn she had a skip in her step, but it had to be his imagination. In all honesty, he was convinced that this whole encounter had been an illusion, but the all too present heat in his cheeks told him it was real.

            “Shit. I don’t know how to go on a date,” he realized suddenly. The only kind of dates he knew about were the ones he had read in his books—and all of them had taken place at least 100 years prior. He was going to need some help. The nerves returning full on, Pietro sprinted out of his room to find either Steve or Clint for advice. As much as he knew that Tony would love to give him tips, Pietro wasn’t quite sure that his style of dating matched up with his.

            It was midnight by the time Steve had finished explaining how to behave on a date. They’d been interrupted by Sam and Thor who were trying to have someone facilitate a drinking contest between the two, which ate up two hours. In the end, Pietro had over 15 pages worth of notes, Steve was drinking coffee from exhaustion, and Sam was sprawled out on the couch, passed out from the contest. Thor was trying to give Pietro more advice, but none of it made any sense to him. He was trying to get him to take Sharon to wherever “Midgard’s finest mead” was served. Ignoring the enormous man’s booming voice, the mutant thanked Cap for his help and headed back to his bedroom.

            Frantically flipping through the pages, trying to memorize each and every bullet point, Pietro barely noticed that the door to his room was open. He stopped in his tracks, confused. It was dark inside, except for a single light that was spilling out into the hall. Putting the papers under his left arm, he opened the door just slightly, revealing his intruder.

            Sharon sat on his bed, wearing the same old sweats and another ratty t-shirt, but the warm smile that she usually used when greeting Pietro was gone. Instead, it was replaced with one of terror and fear. She practically shook as she stared at him, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. What could have possibly happened to have such a strong woman be in such a mess?

            He was at her side in less than a second, the papers he had strewn across the floor, no longer seeming important. Pietro brought her up in a tight embrace, one hand holding her waist, the other one running through her hair. The woman seemed to relax some, but it wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy the mutant. After holding her like that for a good five minutes, Pietro took her hand in his and guided her to the bed. Sitting down, his legs crossed, he held out his arms, inviting her to rest in them.

            The petite woman quickly found her place, wrapping her arms around his waist, hands digging into his hair while she rested her head in the crook of his neck.

            “Shh, it’s alright. I’m here. There’s nothing to fear _moja princezná_ ,” he cooed. Again his hands found her hair, fingers running through the locks in an attempt to calm her with the sweet sensation. She shivered against him as his fingers accidentally made contact with her neck. Instinctively Pietro moved to pull his hand back, thinking he had upset her, but when he did, she let out a low whine. Returning his fingers there and resuming his previous movements, the mutant hummed a song—one of the few that he knew.

            “I..Is that ‘I Wanna Hold Your Hand?’ By the Beatles?” Sharon asked him, her voice muffled just slightly by Pietro’s body wrapped around hers.

            “I don’t know many songs in English,” he admitted, tracing little circles on her back. “I learned it while on the run in England.”

            “Hm.”

            “You want to tell me what’s got you so upset?” he asked, tilting her head just enough so she had to look him in the eyes.

            “Ju-just a nightmare. It...it felt so real. For some reason, I knew if I went to you I’d feel better,” she murmured, one final tear falling down her cheek.

            Pietro thumbed it away, looking down at her with only pure concern. “I’m glad I could be of help, Sharon. You know I’m always here if you need me.”

            They sat in silence for a little while, the only sound the beating of their hearts and the inhale and exhale of air. When he could feel her go limp and her breathing slow, Pietro knew that she had fallen asleep. Gently, he moved so that they were lying on the bed, still intertwined. It was at this moment that he knew just how much he cared for her. The mutant had always liked her, but he denied the extent of his adoration.

            Now, as he held her in his arms, he was all too aware that he was hopelessly in love.


End file.
